


A Nontraditional Beginning

by WhyNotFly



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Barely any explicit sexual content, M/M, Martin in just the cutest lil dress ever., Non-Sexual Age Play, brief sexual age play, but the entire thing feels inherently kinky, even if the characters mostly aren't doing it for kinky reasons, infantalization, one-sided martin feelings, that are maybe reciprocated? But not in this fic, unapologetically romantic jonelias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23343463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhyNotFly/pseuds/WhyNotFly
Summary: The dress suited Martin in that the light pink lace complimented the delicate blush of his cheeks and the ruffled skirt mirrored his curly hair in a charming cherubic way.The dress did not suit Martin in that it was a dress for a little girl and he was, well, he was not that.But it was his dad’s wedding.  And he’d always been sentimental.  That’s how it was being the only child to a single parent.  You had to deal with a bit of doting.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 8
Kudos: 51
Collections: Forever Worms





	A Nontraditional Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RavenXavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/gifts).



> This fic takes place in a universe where Elias adopted Martin when he was pretty young and was a genuinely good dad to him. The only thing is that he still treats Martin entirely like a child, but Martin enjoys the doting and care. This fabulous au (the twisted family au) was created by the wonderful and evil [somuchbetterthanthat](https://somuchbetterthanthat.tumblr.com/)/[RavenXavier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier) and belongs entire to her.
> 
> Happy birthday Elodie!! I love you so much and you deserve all the Martin in poofy pink dresses you could ever want.

The dress suited Martin in that the light pink lace complimented the delicate blush of his cheeks and the ruffled skirt mirrored his curly hair in a charming cherubic way. 

The dress did not suit Martin in that it was a dress for a little girl and he was, well, he was not that.

He didn’t often feel his age. Sure, he was coming on thirty soon (sometimes he thought he noticed a gray hair or two, god he was going to end up looking like his birth father) but he still lived at home with his dad. Staring at himself in the full-length mirror, however, tugging in vain at the bottom of the poofy pink crinoline skirt to get it to cover the tops of his thighs, he felt old and silly and out of place. A man in a kid’s dress.

But it was his dad’s wedding. And he’d always been sentimental. That’s how it was being the only child to a single parent. You had to deal with a bit of doting.

“Well, don’t you look adorable.” 

“Uncle Peter!” Martin turned away from the mirror with a flustered tint to his cheeks. He pulled the dress down as far as he could, leaning slightly forward to cover himself as much as possible. His uncle (who was not really his uncle at all, just a close family friend of his dad, who was not really his father at all, just a man who’d adopted him when he was little) looked sharper than usual. His traditional oversized coat and thick, cable knit sweaters were replaced by a sleek navy suit, the sleeves cinched with golden cufflinks in the shape of anchors. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back smooth, and his beard was neatly trimmed and oiled.

But as he stepped closer, Martin could still smell the reek of smoke sliding off him like a fog. Martin had always been rather partial to the scent of cigarettes. 

“Remind me to leave a generous tip for whatever designer made that little number.” Peter looked Martin up and down, letting his eyes linger gratuitously on the wide expanse of Martin’s exposed thighs. “I think it walked straight out of a lingerie catalogue.”

“It’s a flower girl dress,” Martin protested. “I’m the flower girl.”

“Oh, kiddo.” Peter tilted his head to the side and looked past Martin. “No one is mistaking you for a girl anytime soon.” 

Martin followed Peter’s gaze, turning around to see that in the mirror behind him, the back of his dress had gotten entirely hiked up by his pulling it down in the front, showing off his white cotton underwear. The kid’s underwear his dad insisted on buying for him didn’t always come in his size and it was slowly inching its way into an uncomfortable wedgie.

Peter took another step forward and wrapped a hand around to take a generous handful of Martin’s ass, hiking the underwear up further.

“You’re overflowing out of that thing.” Peter pressed his hips forward until his groin hit into Martin’s, the ruffles of the flower girl dress bunching up between them. “You’ve really gotten so big.”

“U-uncle Peter,” Martin tried to protest through his breath which was already coming heavier. “My dad is going to be here soon.”

“I can be quick.” Peter circled his hips, ending with a punctuated thrust in towards Martin that had his knees buckling. “Do you think if I fill you up your dad could hear you sloshing as you walked down the aisle?”

Martin let out a long, pained whine, using every ounce of his willpower to try and not get hard. If his dad came in…

“Or maybe a pearl necklace would be more appropriate? Match that pretty new bride of his.”

All the warmth in Martin’s stomach sunk in an instant. He pushed Peter off of him, taking a step back and smoothing down the front of his dress. “Not here. Not at my dad’s wedding. You’re not ruining this for him.”

“Oh fine,” Peter said, sounding far too composed. The color of his suit brought out the twinkle in his hazy, blue eyes as he smiled down at Martin indulgently. He straightened out the edge of his sleeve and then reached over and ruffled Martin’s hair. “For Elias.”

“And because I asked you to,” Martin grumbled as he turned back to the mirror to rearrange his hair back into some semblance of order.

“Well,” Peter rested his hands on Martin’s shoulders, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Kids don’t really know what’s best for them.”

He’d been at the church for hours setting up, but it wasn’t until Martin was stood in front of the wide wooden doors leading into the chapel that he first saw Jon. He’d figured Jon would be busy, but he’d kept waiting and hoping to find a chance to talk to him. A chance that kept not materializing. Until here, now, in the eleventh hour. On the other side of the door, Martin could hear the steady chatter of the guests, the quiet lilting of piano music beneath them. 

“Hello, Martin.” Jon looked beautiful. Of course Jon looked beautiful. He always looked beautiful. The long, lace sleeves of his dress were tailored so carefully that they looked like white flowers blooming along his skin. He swept the old-fashioned veil away from the front of his face and Martin could see the way his dark eyes were adorned with a beautiful golden shadow. Jon smiled, demurely, almost apologetically. 

“Hi Jon.” Martin twisted his hands around the handle of his wicker basket full of delicate blue petals that matched the bouquet Jon was holding absentmindedly at his side.

It was awkward. Of course it was awkward. It had been awkward ever since his dad had told Martin he was dating Jon. Martin’s boss. A man who was Martin’s same age. A man who Martin had thought maybe… 

“Your dress looks very lovely on you,” Jon says, and he isn’t even being patronizing. Martin’s stomach twists and turns and he swallows down a mouthful of nervous saliva. His dad had gone out of his way to make sure Martin was okay with this. And he was okay with this. He had to be okay with this because his dad looked at Jon like he hung the moon and stars and Martin owed his dad everything. He deserved to be happy.

“Thank you. You look really pretty too.” Martin smiled against the painful ache in his heart as Jon looked fondly at his wedding gown. He had a softness around him Martin had never seen before that left him feeling like an outsider.

“Your father and I were talking, Martin,” Jon began stiffly, sounding more like the Jon Martin had been working with all these years. “I know we’ve had a… non-traditional beginning to our relationship.”

Martin wanted to ask if Jon meant the fact that Martin was his employee, or if he meant that moment they had shared in document storage when Martin had reached for a file above Jon’s head and they’d stood for a minute with their mouths a whisper apart, breathing in each other’s air.

“But I want to be a part of your family. Properly. I love you both and I don’t want Elias to feel he has to choose between you and I.”

“Right, right, me neither.” Behind Martin, he could hear the chatter begin to quiet down as the audience found their seats. The piano continued, drifting through the cracks in the door and swirling around him.

“I know it will be uncomfortable for you, perhaps for a very long time. But I would like, and your father would like as well, if you could someday call me dad.”

Martin felt a bit dizzy. Jon’s eyes were dark and hopeful and beautiful and he looked like everything Martin had ever wanted. He felt himself nodding, numbly, his body moving without him. Jon smiled, such a soft and pleased smile, and leaned in close. Martin could feel the touch of warm breath on his skin before Jon pressed a chaste kiss to the curve of his cheek. As he pulled away, Martin could feel the tacky residue of lipstick in the tiny hairs of his cheek. 

Too late he realized he’d missed the moment to say _I love you, too_. And now it was too late.

Around them, the piano began to play the bridal chorus, and Martin had no choice but to turn around, push open the doors to the chapel, and begin the procession down the aisle. At the very front, standing in front of the altar, Martin saw his dad, pressed into a sleek black tuxedo, staring expectantly at the doors. He gave Martin a gentle smile before his eyes slid past him and landed on his bride-to-be.

Everytime Elias looked at Jon, he looked like he was watching a melody detach itself from the air and walk the earth.

And what kind of son would Martin be if he denied him that?

The ceremony was beautiful. One thing Martin’s dad knew better than anyone was how to organize a _proper_ event. The chapel was bursting with flowers and lace, the band was exquisite, and of course the bride and groom were dressed to perfection. Standing hand in hand at the altar, they looked like a matching set. Martin’s dad fit his hand so perfectly into the arch of Jon’s back and Jon curved so perfectly into his chest. They kissed like two statues cut from the same block of warm marble.

At the reception, Martin sat with his dad and Jon at a long table facing out into the ballroom. Jon on one end, Martin on the other, the whole table up on a raised dais like some kind of stage. Martin felt a little silly, but he’d been his dad’s son long enough to know how to deal with some theatrics. One by one the guests came up to congratulate the couple and meet the Watcher’s wife. It always caught Martin by surprise, being reminded just how important his dad was. 

Everyone treated Jon with proper deference, calling him _Archivist_ and kissing his hand. Some even gave curt bows. Most came with gifts. Jon, in spite of his obvious discomfort, looked like he belonged among them. His long, white skirt spilled out beautifully around him, his back straight and throat ringed with lace, the very picture of royalty. They came to Martin as well, ruffling his hair and pinching his cheeks, telling him how _darling_ he looked. Uncle Simon gave him a toy race car. Mr. Rayner gave him a picture book that his dad promptly confiscated.

“Martin,” his dad said, leaning over to him after the slew of guests finally departed their table. “Would you like juice or soda?”

“I can get it myself,” Martin whined and his dad clucked disapprovingly.

“Nonsense. And I assumed you wouldn’t want the spinach-stuffed cornish hen, so I asked the kitchen staff to make you chicken fingers.”

 _I’m thirty years old,_ he wanted to say, but he hated spinach. And he didn’t want alcohol. And he liked his new toy race car, it was his favorite color, and he just wanted to get out of this itchy, too-small dress and play with it.

His dad smiled as if he knew everything going through Martin’s head. Who knows? Maybe he did.

“Don’t worry, Martin,” he said, reaching out and cupping the side of his face. “We’ll all get to go home soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this highly specific fic, I hope you enjoyed, you people who aren't Elodie. Elodie, I already know that you enjoyed it XD
> 
> If you liked this, you can come talk to me on my tumblr [apatheticbutterflies](https://apatheticbutterflies.tumblr.com/) I post writing and meta and I love getting messages even if it takes me a minute to reply to them. Love you all!


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